Inner Demons
by Not Quite Worthless
Summary: Malchior's free and bent on revenge. His plan will destroy the Titans, one in particular, from the inside out.
1. Prologue

_Author's note: _This story takes place not too long after "The End". Just wanted to make that one clear. Though this does involve Malchior don't expect Raven to fall sobbing hysterically into Beastboy's arms by the end, because she isn't going to. If there is any shipping it will be what the reader draws from it. Personally I don't mind BB/Rae, but this isn't a shipping fic. So you can hit the "Back" button now if that's what you came for-- but it is pretty good, I suggest you at least take a look.

**Prologue**

Malchior was fuming. Fuming was one of the few things he had become really good at in his one thousand year imprisonment inside a book. Fuming, and the arts. To keep his sanity he would amuse himself by rearranging the letters on the pages the book contained to form any story or drawing he willed it to be. For the first few centuries or so if one had opened the book one would have found gruesome drawing of a certain wizard dying horribly, with elegant little legends such as "Here lies the sadly necessary profanity at this point who deserves to rot at the bottom of the Themes." Now he had turned his artistic talent to Raven-- but that was not the only thing he was doing.

Malchior was plotting. He was a good plotter, and had time to kill. His situation a thousand years earlier had been hopeless, really-- he was in the hands of highly trained monks who knew at least thirty ways to slaughter him even if he did manage to escape. Eventually he had changed hands to Azarath, and then the first spark of hope tickled his draconic being. The Azarathians did not know who he was, and merely shelved him in a dismal corner. Malchior waited for decades then, but it was a hopeful wait now. All he needed was a stupid apprentice to pluck him off the shelf, and he was free.

From inside his prison Malchior could not "see" anything, but he could sense particularly powerful beings as well as hear. He knew he would be freed as soon as the cursed girl touched his binding and shoved him a trunk. He could sense her power-- great power that he had thought to be long gone from the realm of mortals.

And then she and her friends had ruined it all.

Malchior had one last spark of hope. When she had recaptured him, the incantation had been hurried. Though it was sufficient to trap him, he could feel the subtle cracks in the spell, places where the right words could shatter through. All he needed was somebody to say them, and he could force his way out. When he did he would make sure Raven and her friends died. Horribly. And he had something nasty planned this time-- he would make sure the Titans died at her own hands. All he needed was a certain item back where he once had a home, and they would suffer as he had.

Malchior sensed the half-breed leave the house with quiet elation. The Tameranian, Firestar, (or was it Starfire?) was accompying her on some outing or another. He had overheard that much using a probe. The cracks, he had been delighted to learn, allowed him to slip out low level spells. He had been monitoring the Titan's goings and comings for some time now as he had touched up his plan and learned what was needed of the outside world. This was just what he wanted.

The dragon waited until the girl's power failed to register on his senses before acting. He sent out a tiny telepathic pulse. Malchior was working on the assumption that the shapeshifter's brain was susceptible to outside forces. Really, the shapeshifter was the only one he had any hope of "suggesting" things to; Raven and Robin were both to strong of will to be swayed by magic alone, the cyborg's electronic brain was immune to magic, and the Tameranian's nervous system differed just enough from what he was accustomed to that persuasion was impossible.

Malchior sent out another pulse and waited.

----

Not much action here, but it _is _just the prologue, after all. Review if you dare.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Beastboy jammed his thumbs into the controller so hard that an outsider might fear that it would snap under his hands, but as Cyborg had proved that the thin plastic casing was tough as reinforced steel-- he gave it just as bad a pounding as Beastboy, and never once had a controller short-circuited.

"C'mon man, c'mon..." Beastboy willed his swordfighter to dodge a cannon blast. The virtual green-clad swordsman landed nimbly beside the armored bounty hunter and raised it's sword.

"Friends! Raven and I will be going to the mall of shopping! If anything is wrong-" A cheery Tameranian yelled from across the room.

Cyborg would have waved her aside if his hands had not been full. The virtual bounty hunter struck the swordsman with a missile at point-blank range. "Sure thing Star. Don't wait up."

"We're just going for an hour." A considerably less cheery teen muttered. She did not raise her voice, but the monotone cut nicely through the buzzing and sound effects all the same. "_Just _an _hour_." Beastboy could never decide if the last statement was aimed at them or the red-head at her side. Raven owed Starfire one, though, as the said alien had proclaimed loud and long until Raven consented to an hour of shopping. How this "one" had been accumulated was anybody's guess. Raven had merely said that it involved scissors, peanut butter, and a defective toaster.

"NO!" Beastboy's screamed in fury as his own character hurtled off the screen. "Dude, you so cheated!" Raven and Starfire traded glances before wisely slipping away while they could.

Cyborg stuck out his tongue. "Whatever floats your boat. Now say it." If the robotic teen had grinned any wider Beastboy was sure his circuits would crack.

"Not a chance." Beastboy crossed his arms and sulked. This should have been his victory.

"Say it."

"Fine." Beastboy muttered something unintelligible in an undertone.

"I can't hear you." Cyborg cupped a hand to one ear.

Beastboy literally snarled and repeated himself. "Cyborg's on top, Beastboy's a sop. The cyberman rules, and dogboy drools." Beastboy ground his teeth. "Happy now?"

Cyborg tapped a few keys in his arm. To Beastboy's horror, his last sentences were replayed at high volume. "_Cyborg's on top, Beastboy's a sop. The cyberman rules, dogboy drools." _

"Yep."

"That is so unfair! Man, I-" Beastboy stopped in mid-rant. A thought had struck him. "Hey, you know Raven's out of the house for an hour, right?"

"Yes..." Cyborg was wary. Last time his friend had that gleam in his eye Cyborg had ended up scraping tofu off his bedroom wall for weeks.

"We should so booby-trap her room! It'll be awesome!" The shapeshifter rubbed his hands together and cackled. Well, in all honesty, it was more of a giggle, actually.

Cyborg shook his head wildly and began to tick of points on his fingers. "One: do you remember what happened last time we went in there? I'd rather not run into four eyes again. Two: She'd kill us slowly, use some dark magicky trick to bring us back, make us clean up the mess our blood made, then kill us again! Three: she's got a lock programmed into the door now, and not all of us can morph into flies."

Beastboy shrugged and vaulted over the back of the couch, making a beeline for the elevator. "Suit yourself!"

_...This symbolizes some passing of time...This symbolizes some passing of time..._

Beastboy stood rubbing his palms together infront of a door bearing a plain gold plaque. The letters glinted the simple word "Raven" in the light. Beastboy hopped from foot to foot, impatient to let the pranking begin. He dived at the crack, morphed into a humming bird, and changed back on the other end without breaking stride. "What to booby-trap first...?" The light words had to be forced out of his mouth with a cheerfulness he did not feel-- something about Raven's room always gave him the creeps.

Beastboy took in his surrounding carefully, or tried to. For some reason a chest in the corner kept drawing his eye. He should open it. Yeah, that was a great idea. The shapeshifter treaded lightly on his tip-toes towards the chest and pulled on the lid. It took more force than he expected to heave the dark wood up and over. At other times he might have admired the engravings, but for some reason he felt inexplicably impatient.

Beastboy was confronted with the same book that he remembered from those months ago. He had spent enough time spying on Raven while she chatted with dragonboy to recognize it when he saw it. _Raven's going to kill me if she finds out I was snooping around with this thing._ At first he scrambled to grab the lid and slam it shut upon this realization, but something kept him from doing so. Another thought wormed its way into his mind. Why should he be afraid? Malchi-whatsit was safely locked away, and it might be fun to gloat about the imprisonment for a little while. Beastboy carefully hefted the leather-bound tome onto his lap and flipped it open. He was greeted by two baleful eyes.

"How's the weather in there?" Beastboy grinned at the book. Now that it was open in his hands, all desire to be talking to the thing inside, or even be in this room, was gone. Beastboy almost considered leaving-- but it was too late now.

"Oh, it's the moron. Hello, moron." The dragon still retained it's aristocratic voice and English accent. He was remarkably cheerful for something confined to a book indefinitely.

"I'm smarter than you." Beastboy shot back.

"Smarter than _me_?" It coughed in polite disbelief. "Hardly."

"And that's why I'm the one breathing fresh air and you're stuck in a boring old book." Beastboy saw its eyes slit in momentary annoyance, but the outburst was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Some of us just have _dumb_ luck, I suppose." Malchior went on before Beatboy could process the jibe. "Honestly, I doubt you can even read."

"I can too!" Beastboy yelled just a decibel to loudly. He did not think it worth to mention he had never finished a book without pictures.

"Oh, really? Then read... _this_." The pages fluttered and came to rest on a single leaf with just a few sentences at the top.

Beastboy knew he should not. Every pore in his being screamed at him to shut the book, toss it in the chest, and leave, but something held him back. He couldn't leave now. He would humor the thing a little. Beastboy squinted at the letters. He was sure it was not English. "Mee es wat ahded." He paused to try and make sense of what he had said. His face changed in color so that it looked like a Christmas decoration. "Hey!"

"Amen. But you haven't finished yet."

Beastboy plowed on, determined to prove the thing wrong. The words were foreign, even if the script was simple Times New Roman. Beastboy failed to catch anything further degrading to himself, but there must have been some hidden meaning since when he finished he had the distinct sensation that Malchior was holding back a chuckle.

"I'm afraid you mispronounced a word there. So sorry. I pity your parents... stuck with a thing like you. Then again, they can't have been high-watt bulbs either. I swear, there should be a law against idiots reproducing."

That stung. Beastboy did not bother replying, but merely slammed shut the book, hurled it inside the chest, heaved down the lid with a bang, and dashed from the room. All thoughts of booby-traps were forgotten.

_...This would be a page break...This would be a page break...Page break... Break..._

Malchior gathered his energy to force the weakened cracks open. He was finally free.

---

Umm... review? You didn't get any Raven interaction this chapter, I apologize, but she'll be in the next on for sure. Right. Umm... this would be the part where I ask you to review, right? Please?


	3. Chapter 2

**Morwen:** I'll keep writing as long as you keep reviewing, deal? I liked that line too... actually cracked up writing it. I hope I keep him in character for this new one.

**Vinnie the Geek**: Yay! My throwing stuff in that's beside the point is good for fiction-- but gets me into trouble whenever I have to write a research paper. Glad you approve. :D

**Swizz**: Yeah, well, we're all allowed our little plot devices, aren't we? Remember, Beastboy's judgment was affected by telepathy, so he wasn't as bright as he normally would be. I had a bit too much fun coming up with how he kept his sanity for all those years... /grins/

**Cesario Thames Belmount**: Glad you did, but I think all the BB/Rae shippers beg to differ... maybe I should've stuck it at the end so that they at least reviewed. /grumbles/ I'll try to keep my updates reasonably soon.

**Chapter 2**

Malchior's release was sudden and painful. Nearly before the shapeshifter had retreated he exploded out from his prison. For the first split second he reveled in just being able to feel anything at all, in being able to see the blackness crowded around him, and the taste of air he greedily gulped in. Then he banged his head against the lid of the chest, his mane of silver hair barely cushioning the impact. He hissed a stream of Gaelic that I don't think I'll translate. It took only the briefest moments for him to discern something was wrong.

He lifted two puny arms slowly in front of his face. His eyes were poor-- he could barely make out the two limbs in the darkness. Malchior drew in a few more breaths with a small frail chest draped in a cloth material. It was a human chest. Realization struck. That miserable mutt had booby trapped the seal! She had tricked him! She had cast a filter on it so that if he, or anything else, passed through they would be helpless, human. It was a tricky curse, as it required the DNA of a being that could morph into at leastfive creatures for it to work, and had taken him off guard. She couldn't have cast it as she recaptured him, as it took time and several components that could only be cultivated on certain solar equinoxes. Malchior knew all this already, having taught it to her himself. She must have thought it poetic justice-- killing her would be oh so easy. He cursed her and all her descendants under his breath.

_At the mall...the mall...mall..._

Raven doubled over in pain-- it felt as if somebody had punched her stomach. Starfire drew the perfume bottle away in a disappointed rush of breath. "You do not find this scent of chemicals appeasing." Star placed it back on the shelf and withdrew another sample for inspection. Raven frowned, and not just because of the smell. It was almost as if... nah.

_Back at the T-tower...at the T-tower...the T-Tower...T-Tower_

Malchior awkwardly tried to bash through the pathetic chest with his fist and ended up with bloodied knuckles. He had almost considered giving her an easy death. Not a chance of that now. He would execute his plan even if it ended up destroying him. Much more cautious this time, the former dragon gingerly positioned his shoulder against the wood and stood. The lid groaned open, as if protesting all the misuse it had been through today. Malchior stretched awkward fragile arms confined by equally awkward fragile cloth and took a moment to gather his thoughts and become accustomed to his new form. It was much easier when his being was constructed solely of paper, and he didn't have any actual substance to worry about keeping in balance.

After consideration, Malchior decided that perhaps this new form wasn't so terrible after all. The more his questing probes had heard of the evolved Earth the more unlikely survival had seemed to him, being the dragon that he was. He had even seriously considered lying dormant for the rest of time. Surely doodling indefinitely was far better than being free for a few weeks and then being slain. His old home, Gwynedd, were he could thrive with only the occasional suicidal warrior charging in, was human-free and wild. He had lived there just fine until that Rorek-- Malchior tried to snarl and ended up doubled over coughing viciously. The bottom line: such places did not exist anymore. If he had left the Tower roaring his fury and torching whoever came his way the humans would kill him. He might take down a couple hundred with him, but he wouldn't survive. There were just too many now. It was the simple, harsh truth. His old plan was to put his treasure to use and make sure Raven's fate was sealed before some gung-ho officer went at him with a nuke, but now he actually had a chance of long-term survival, even if it was at the cost of his power. He could not only put his plan into action but watch it be carried outto the fullest. It would take a few adjustments, of course, and he would need currency for food and transportaion now, but this new twist could be dealt with quite nicely.

First thing first. He needed to find something with a decent monetary value. It was a good thing he had managed to learn what his old land was called now from the girl during his short-lived freedom. If he hadn't Malchior would have to have found a geographic map of the world and scour it inch by inch, and even then he was sure that he would have a wide range of possible places left.

Malchior knew where to look for valuables. He stumbled his first few steps to the bookcase, unsure of the lack of feet beneath him. He pinwheeled and barely managed to grab the shelf as he fell. Malchior pulled a block of books from the shelf and dropped it like a ton of bricks, surprised by the strain on his arms. They landed directly on his foot. Malchior tried to gasp and curse simultaneously-- the end result sounded like he was a choking frog with a bad cold. That girl would die last.

He ran a tentative hand over the shelf, feeling carefully for any cracks. In his period partially free she had mentioned something of two Titan's journey into her mind, ending it at "Let's just say the mirror's in a way safer place now." and actually tapped this particular shelf with a brief nod. Later on in his imprisonment, some weeks ago, he had heard some books being hit against the floor, and a click as some latch was released... and then sobbing. There was definitely something more than a mirror in here, with strong sentimental value at least. Malchior didn't care about any special trinkets holding some great meaning at the moment, but if there was a secret compartment there was always currency nearby. It was a rule of thumb in the old days of raiding towns for treasure to add to his hoard.

The shelf clicked and a thin layer of wood neatly flew up. Malchior greedily rummaged into the contents, finding a hand mirror, no doubt the same that the shapeshifter and cyborg had gotten into. It might have been fun to mess around in Raven's mind, but slowly killing all of her positive emotions was small scale compared to what he wanted to unleash. There was a plain gold ring glittering innocently next to the hand-glass. Malchior picked it up and received a jolt strong enough to leave a small welt, as if it were electrically charged. Magical, then. Melting something of this potency would no doubt release whatever energy was inside, effectively killing everybody in a five-block radius. No good there. Malchior scrambled with his fingers in the back of the safe, annoyed. There had to be something. Then he struck gold. Literally.

Malchior withdrew a small golden statue. It weighed several pounds, to the point that Malchior couldn't quite believe his luck. He turned it over in his hands greedily. It was solid gold alright. The statue itself was of an angel, poised in mid-launch off a cloud, wings half-spread wide. She, it was a she, was holding a rolled page of parchment in one hand and had partially raised a trumpet to her lips in the other. Now why would the daughter of Trigon the Terrible have a statue of a messenger angel? Odd. Not only did she have possession of the said statue, but it showed obvious signs of common handling, the polish rubbed off to merely a dull sheen in some places. Malchior, searching for some secret, turned it upside down and looked at the base. Inscribed into the gold was a simple legend._ Not all futures are written in stone. _The writing was clumsy, carved completely in vertical and horizontal lines. Obviously whoever scratched in this was not the gifted maker of the statue. Too bad it showed such obvious signs of handling-- Malchior would have dearly enjoyed taking such an obviously valued item and melting it down for currency, but he was relying on stealth, not brute strength, now, and such an item would be missed before he could locate his stash. He sighed in regret and dropped the statue back into it's hiding place with a small _thunk_.

Disappointed, Malchior was about to close the lid and paused. He drew out the mirror, careful not to activate any properties it might have. He wanted to see what he looked like as a human-- he was curious as to what form Raven had made him take. She did have to choose a previously born body for him, for the curse couldn't generate anything randomly or transit one species into another. The face of Rorek was staring back at him. Malchior didn't say anything when he saw his now long dead mortal enemy staring back at him, but simply went dead silent and placed the mirror in it's proper place. His expression could have given nightmares to a general. He carefully shelved each book individually with a calculated indifference.

The last book was sprawled on the floor, spine up and parchment akimbo. Malchior picked it up, and almost smiled. On the floor beneath it was a thick mass of green slips of paper that had evidently fallen out of the pages. He shelved the book, pocketed the cash, and prepared to leave. He was not too concerned of the child noticing this missing item. He had ample time to evaluate her character, and was quite sure that money was the least of her concerns and it might take weeks for the dough to be missed.

Malchior propped open the window, not really unconcerend with the fall. If he had taken dear Rorek's frame then it would be a matter of a few simple enchantments to get from here to the other side of the lake. From then it would be a market where he could get something more present-day and a pair of shears for this ridiculous mess of hair.

---

Raven massaged her temples and made her way straight to her room. Any patience she had with the red-head was now gone. Out of all the possible stores in that mall, which one did Starfire have to go into? It had began innocently enough, the general stroll down the aile and the occasional wrench on her arm as Star saw something of interest, but what did she have to say next?_ "Friend Raven, what is the secret of Victoria? Let us go and find out!" _Off they were, one Tameran speeding forward at a good 60 m.p.h., dragging behind Raven by one wrist. She shuddered at the memory and took in a few deep, cleansing breaths. It was very intruiging, Raven noted, that Star always spoke up at precisely the wrong time, in precisely the wrong volume, with precisely the wrong questions. Victoria's Secret. It had to be Victoria's Secret. Why couldn't it ever be Borders, or, or Barnes and Noble, or Waldenbooks, or... Raven shook her head to clear it. Right now all she wanted to do right was read and recover from that traumatic incident.

Raven ran a hand along the spines of her books, and paused. Something wasn't right. She looked intently at the shelf, searching for an answer. Then she realized it. The books over her safe were out of order, being a set of old reference books on All That Concerns Magyck and the Uses Thereof by an Emrys M. When placed in alphabetical order a Chinese dragon was sprawled across the set. Now the dragon was sorely disfigured, looking like a Picasso drawing, theeyes where the abdomen should be, feet sprouting from a tounge, and a tail that seemed to directly connected to on long whisker. Raven's heart stopped. She used her power to remove the books and flip up the lid.

It had been rummaged through. That was obvious enough. Even the statue had been handled. Raven gently closed the lid and rearranged the books in their proper order and materialized straight through the floor, not even bothering to walk to the living room. Somebody was going to pay.

A green somebody.

---

Raven materialized before the kitchen table, patiently waiting until she was noticed. It didn't take long. The tension she brought into the room was practically tangible. Starfire did a double take and glanced nervously from side to side, and Cyborg started a little, then kept on eating his steak contendedly, Beastboy froze with a peice of something white stuck on his fork halfway to his mouth before continuing. The only one who gave any aknowledgement of her prescence was Robin-- he wove his fingers together, rested them on one knee, and nodded slightly.

Raven's voice was barely audible and devoid of all emotion when she spoke, her words evenly measured.. She scared them all witless. "Which one?" As if she needed to ask.

"Which one what?" Robin downed the last of his Mountain Dew, tossing the can to Cyborg, who promptly smashed the can on the metal side of his head. Cy winked at Beastboy as the aluminum buckled and crumpled into a flat disk. Beastboy flinched at each crack of the metal as if in actual pain. Raven waited with forced calm as Cy rolled the said disk between his palms until it was resembled a dishelveled marble. Then he caught look of Raven's expression and the grin was wiped off his face.

"Invaded my privacy. Again. What else?" Beastboy turned an interesting shade of mint and pleaded silently with Cyborg. In response, the electronic teen only shrugged in apology and hooked his thumb in the shapeshifter's direction. Beastboy pushed himself awkwardly out of his chair and threw up his hands. Raven was really livid. That wizar- dragon... thing must have tattled on him. She wasn't just rant-and-forget about it-mad, she was beat-into-a-bloody-pulp-and-dump-in-a-lake-mad

"You have thirty seconds." Raven said in that calm, devoid of life voice that meant serious trouble. "Explain yourself."

Beastboy opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, looking like a dying fish. Just as Raven's already sorely tried patience ran out the Tower alarm went off-- for once Beastboy didn't mind the searing light and foghorn level alarm. With any luck Raven wouldn't look ready to beat him with a hot metal poker until he was a crisp bloody carcass by the end of whatever fight they were in for.

In seconds Robin was at the main screen, taking in all the data various status bars were displaying. "No real threat," he called from the living room. "Just Control Freak breaking into a radio station downtown."

Raven had a nasty glint in her eye. "Does that mean that only three have to come? You, Starfire, and Cyborg?" Beastboy became several more shades paler. Bouts with Control Freak could last up to a few hours before he was finally captured. It wasn't the inevitably long lecture that would come that he was frightened of-- it was the hours, sometimes days, that would come while Raven avoided them all and left him to stew in his guilt that freaked the snot out of him. At least with the other three around he could try to strike up a good conversation, but alone...

To his horror, Robin seriously considered the question-- but his fears proved unfounded. The boy wonder shook his head after a short eternity. Not a hair on his very gelled head moved out of place. "No. He has the occasional dangerous trick up his sleeve. All of us should be there, just in case." Beastboy let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and darted his glance guiltily in Raven's direction. She glared at him, never saying anything out loud, but her meaning was clear. _You haven't gotten out of this yet. _"Titans, go!"

And they were off.

---

I should have said this before, but unless you've seen "The Prophecy" parts of this ff aren't going to make sense, for instance, _Not all Futures are written in stone _was something I stuck in that has to do with Raven's prophecy. I've never actually seen the original TT comics, but I've read somewhere that Arella translates into "Messenger Angel", therefore the statue and all. For some reason the comic Arella was one of my favorite characters-- don't ask me why-- so I decided to throw a cameo in. The statue itself wasn't in any comics/episodes that I know of, being something I pulled out of my head, but The Ring of Azar's in both the comics and, if the spoilers from Canada are right, The End pt. 2, and I'm sure most of you know that the mirror was from Nevermore.

Raven wasn't in too much of this one either, but from now on the fic will be in her point of view, at least, a good portion of it. Honest. I wasn't as happy with this one as the Prologue and Chapter 1. Oh well.

/Jedi-style hand motion/ You don't _need _to click the back-button without reviewing...


	4. Chapter 3

**Vinnie the Geek: **Glad you didn't think it was _too _original. ((Sticks and stones...))

**Swizz**: You rock so hard. I agree that has gotten... in a slightly worsened state. It's getting really hard to find legible fics lately.

**Mystyre: **I'm glad you like the story so far!

**Chapter 3**

Jacob Johnson, or as he preffered it, "Jay Squared" stumbled onto the plane in a haze brought on partially by lack of sleep and frustration, but mostly by a bit too much to drink. He did a quick scan of all the occupants, and chanced upon a young man in his late teens/early twenties sitting by himself and glaring out the window with a rather malicious smile on his face. Jacob took in the silver, rather raggedly cut hair, solid black outfit, and the strange, crawling blue tattoo on each arm, and thought he saw a common ear to talk to. He crashed his way into the bucket seat beside the youth and heaved his backpack off his shoulder with a quiet, despairing sigh and, after a moments scrounging through his pack, pulled out a CD player and headphones that looked as if the volume was turned up high enough to be heard halfway across the room. You had to feel sorry for him. Jay never stood a chance.

Jay found himself barely spared an annoyed glance by the kindred rebel before being promptly ignored. Jay cleared his throat, but found no response. This was completely new-- Jay had been mocked, idolized, looked up to, and openly stared at, but never ignored. He tried clearing his throat again, this time managing to provoke a reaction.

"Are you quite well?" The tone implied that the speaker did not really care if he was or wasn't. Jay missed the hint.

"No. I'm sick right here." Jay attempted to tap his chest with three fingers but ended up missing, the coordination needed being drunk under the table at the moment, pausing the music so that he could carry on a conversation.

"Heart disease? At your age? How very unlucky."

Jay frowned.

"I'm Jay. Who're you?" It seemed a change in tactics was needed with this new acquaintance.

"If you're asking _who _I am, then I'm really a former dragon on the run for an ancient artifact that could unleash one of the most hidden and feared powers ever known to man. If you want to know what I'm calling myself for now, it's Drake Mc'Choir." Drake grinned eerily at Jay's confusion and open disbelief.

He worked his mouth a little, searching through the haze for the words needed. "What're you trying to pull?"

Mc'Choir repeated himself slowly as if speaking to a small and stupid child. "I just told you, I'm _trying _to provoke an ancient and hidden power-"

"How stupid do you think I am?" Jay managed to slip out.

Drake smiled pityingly. "Oh, don't worry, I've seen far worse than you in my time. Just had a conversation with a real Socrates just under an hour ago, in fact."

"Hey, man, don't try to pull anything over on me. My life's screwed up enough as it is." Jay sighed in the wistful manner of one who has seen all the horrors of the world and none of the good. Drake cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, I can see that already. That designer leather jacket is practically falling off your poor, underfed frame." Drake plowed on, ignoring the reddening expression of his neighbor. "And anyone can see how all those sterling silver rings chaff your poor, weak, manicured hands. Wearing those headphones must be pure tortue." The speaker snorted and looked back out the window, drumming his fingers impatiently on the armrest. "When _will _this thing ever take off?"

"Hey, you don't know what it's like having to deal with everything that I'm stuck with." Jay took the headphones off completely.

"You're right." Drake turned back to Jay and fixed his full glare on the boy. "I have absolutely no idea what pitiful life you have been forced to struggle against all odds stoically through, so it will be no good to try and tell me."

"Well, I'm not standing for it. I'm leaving." Jay hooked a thumb at himself, declaring this proud acheivement.

"The country? A little drastic, wouldn't you say?" Drake snarled in the back of his throat like a common animal. "What are the fools waiting for?"

Jay shook his head, paused, then nodded a little. "But just because my aunt lives in the UK. I'm going to stay at her house as long as she'll let me."

Drake chuckled hollowly. "Oh, yes, go couch surfing for a few years until you either end up with a receding hairline at a second-rate burger joint or behind bars. That'll show them." Malchior had overheard the line on some soap opera or another, and though not understanding the details, knew the basic meaning. The jibe had the desired effect.

Jay stood straight up and raised his voice. The pair had attracted more than just a few eyes by now, and this did nothing for their discretion-- by now a distressed flight attendant started making her way up to the front of the plane. Through his drunken and enraged haze Jay gave Drake a very rude hand motion and a curse before swinging his pack onto his shoulder and heading back up the aile.

"My, what a temper." Drake noted in an offhand sort of way. Jay turned and hissed another slurred profanity and repeated the motion. If he had been completely sober he would never have lost his cool that easily, but Jay was already on the edge from the previous morning's events and was never a saint even before consuming all the alchohol and who-knows-what-else. "Quite amusing, actually." Drake shrugged and returned to his earlier occupation of staring out the window.

"Yeah, yeah." Jay shrugged off the attendant's polite, but firm, request to disembark with a casual flick of the wrist, "I'm leaving this plane anyways." and proceeded to make his way back to the airport.

Ten minutes later, the engines began to kick in and the pilot's voice blared over the speaker. "Finally." 'Drake McChoir' sank into his seat and prepared himself for the ride

_Back to the Titans... to the Titans... the Titans... Titans..._

"So..." Raven glanced over to Cyborg. The cybernetic teen was trying in vain to diffuse the tension. "That was easy." He handled the steering wheel deftly and managed to pass up the car that was formerly in front of them.

Robin joined in from the backseat of the T-car. "It wasn't even as if he was trying."

"Yes." Starfire decided to pitch in too. "I found the fighting of crime today most pleasing."

Raven turned back out the window and fascinated herself with all the cars flying by. Beastboy didn't say anything. _Wise move_. Raven squinted at a smiling kid waving at his heroes as the car barreled on its way. She could've sworn it was the same one that she had kept those steel beams from falling on last week, but who could be sure? The car jolted to a stop along with her thoughts at the pizza place. The Titans were regulars at the two story restaraunt, at least, that's what the banner claimed in the glass front door.

Raven picked her usual seat and waited patiently for the ritual of deciding what to order began. Beastboy and Cyborg would argue over the toppings for around twenty minutes or so, sometimes bringing in philosophy and higher powers into the debate. It always ended the same way-- half-cheese and half-pepperoni. _3...2...1..._

"We'll have the meat lover's special, of course." Cyborg charged in, guns blazing. Three of the Titan's heads in unison turned to Beastboy as if they were watching a tennis match.

Beastboy half-heartedly sucked at the soda staw before replying. "Sure." The shapeshifter returned to his task, drawing the Coke only halfway up the tube before blowing it back down again.

Raven looked up ot Cyborg in surprise. This was a new developement. He tried to recover from the shock without appearing to do so. "On second thought, I'm in a mood for half and half today. How about you guys?" Robin and Starfire both nodded with false enthusiasm, emmiting the occasional "sounds good". Raven tipped her head ever-so-slightly in a nod before starting and intense study of the red and white checkered tablecloth.

Beastboy shrugged. "Sure."

Robin waved over a waitress. "The usual."

The brunette raised both eyebrows. "That fast?" Realizing what she had said, the girl turned red and stammered an apology before retreating back to the kitchen.

Lunch was a silent and dismal affair, and the ride home made it seem like a twelve-year-old's sleep over in comparison. Beastboy trudged up to the tower like a convicted criminal to the gallows, a vast contrast to the way the other three Titans dashed to get out of the danger area. Cyborg practically blasted the door down in his attempt to get inside before the torrent started. Raven cornered Beastboy before he had made it halfway to the tv. The shapeshifter cringed and mentally prepared himself for whatever was coming next-- the evident strain twisting his face.

"Don't do it again." Her duty done, Raven turned to go. Somehow seeing him quaking in terror had taken away the urge to beat him to a bloody pulp and dump him in a lake.

"W-wait, that's it?" Beastboy stuttered incredulously. "No lecture?"

Raven half-whirled back around, giving him a profile view of her face. "Do you _want _me to lecture you?"

"N-no." Beastboy backed up, shaking his head and holding his hands in front of him simultaneously.

"Neither do I. I don't think it's necessary and would be an utter waste of breath. But Beastboy-" Raven stopped him in mid dash. "-ever pull that again and nobody will find the body. That's not a threat. It's a promise."

"Right."

---

If there's a slight irregularity in my usual style, it's because I was utterly floored by "The End". If you haven't seen it yet, I recommend catching it on the July 16 marathon-- it's gotta be the best episode(s) yet. There isn't really much to say about this chapter, other than I hadn't originally planned to show Malchior on the plane... but then I wondered about who was sitting next to him.

See that little purple square thingy down there? Click it!


	5. Chapter 4

**Morrwen**: I don't know about marathon, but I'm pretty sure they're showing all three parts. It was fun thinking of a name-- I couldn't find anything that sounded like "Malchior" so instead I put it as a last name and used Drakeisntead Dragon...Draco...Drakeand then I just shortened it. Malchior...Machoir...McChoir.

**Mystyre**: It means stunned in a good way. I can go on and on and on about how good it was-- but I'm just supposed to be answering review here and not go into a rant about the best episode of all time, so I'll just leave it at that it was very, very good.

**vinnie the geek: **Thanks for the offer, but I don't think I need to-- that's what siblings are for. Anyways, it's not hard to think of lines for him, it's sorta like he's just saying it himself and I'm the mere recorder. Malchior (or my interpretation of him) is really fun to work with-- he's smart, but not psychotic, self-centered, but still empathic enough to manipulate others, and as a bonus point he can work magic.

**Chapter 4**

Raven groaned-- once again she had the pleasure of awakening to blaring sirens and flashing lights. She pushed herself up groggily, taking a few gracious moments to compose herself as she slipped on her cape and made her way to the door. The small clock on her bedside table read 2:28am. She was a light sleeper, or, at least, she had learned to be one. Criminals didn't wait until the Titans were all nice and rested before acting. Actually, she had trouble remembering times when the Titans actually got a full night's sleep.

Raven was the second to last of the Titans to reach the meeting room, the last being none other than Beastboy. The shapeshifter stumbled drunkenly into the room, managing to trip over a discarded controller for the Gamestation before reaching the rest of the group. It had been over a month since he had snuck into her room, but even so every now and again she would catch him looking at her and flinching as he did so now.

"What's up?" Cyborg was the first to ask. Robin stared into his communicator, furrowing his brow like an old man before replying.

"It's a break-in to a warehouse in Quarter 7."

Starfire tentatively raised a hand. "What was the house of storage containing?" Generally unnecessary questions were left unasked-- seconds wasted meant lives lost in this line of work-- but her curiosity was unbearable.

Beastboy stood on tiptoes to see over Robin's shoulder. "Just lumber and steel. A couple-" he broke of and yawned like a cat, exposing his pointed canines in the process. "of engines. Ship stuff."

Robin swung the communicator away from Beastboy, sparing him an annoyed glare. "The police force would normally handle this sort of thing, but there was alot of loud noises and flaring lights. It looked just potentially dangerous enough so that we were called instead. There wasn't any known motivation for the explosions."

"It's a trap, then." Raven flexed her fingers. This would be interesting.

Robin nodded. "Most likely. We'll go in anyways, of course."

"Of course."

_Some time later... time later... later..._

The Titans gathered around the entrance to the warehouse. It was not the original doorway, but instead a gaping thirty foot in diameter hole that looked like a crooked mouth in the darkness. Cyborg shone a light around the edges, exposing places where the steel was actually twisted in it's place like half-melded putty left to harden. Everybody let out a collective breath.

"Way too flashy to be Slade's style." Beastboy shrugged under the eyes of the rest of his teammates. "What? You were all thinking it, I'm just saying it."

"I almost wish it was Slade." Raven murmured. "Then we'd know what we're up against."

Robin started making his way carefully forward. "Doesn't matter. Go carefully."

They went carefully, to the point where they were so quiet that Cyborg's footfalls sounded like hammer blows in the darkness. The small cone of light illuminated half-burnt jumbles of wood that had once been neat stacks as well as piles of steel beams melded into eachother. It was just as they were making their way around the corner of one such steel pile that a gunshot split the darkness. Starfire muffled a scream as she saw the bullet smoking, embedded into the steel barely three inches from her head. Raven reacted instantly, created a black wall around her friends before any more shots could be fired. Her hands were shaking as the realization of what had almost happened came through.

"T-turn up the light." Robin stuttered slightly, as shocked as the rest of them. Very rarely had the Titans been outright fired upon-- usually the villains preffered stun rays, small explosives, or fancy lazer beams, and thought that using such commonplace weapons was beneath them. Apparently this new enemy wasn't as stupid.

Cyborg spotted a fringe of a black sweater hood ducking behind a pile. Raven switched tactics instantly, knocking aside the pile with her powers just moments after disabling the shield. Starfire let fly with a torrent of starbolts, illuminating the room green at the same time Cyborg shot his sonic cannon and Robin hurled a few birdarangs in the gunman's general direction. At least one of the projectiles made contact, as they all heard a muffled cry of pain and something muttered. If she didn't know better Raven could have sworn it was a curse in Gaelic, something about the wolves goring one's firstborn and desecrating the remains, but that wasn't possible.

The burglar limped up, revealed in full force by Cyborg's light. The only thing that could be instantly found out about the character was that he could have been in his late teens or early twenties. He was wearing black jeans, combat boots the same color, a cotton jacket with hood attached, and up. He raised his gun again, but Raven was ready this time. She created a black shield just inside the nozzle and waited. When he pulled the trigger the gun exploded into a thousand painful shards in his hand as the bullet ricocheted backward off her energy wall. Before he could draw in breath Robin had a metal bo staff pressed not-so-gently on his windpipe and Starfire had wrapped his wrists in a particularly painful lock behind his back.

He grinned and spoke in a heavy, thick, typical ruffian tone. " 'ey, you can't blame me for trying, can ya mate?" Raven hovered uncertainly. Something about the voice was familiar.

"Actually," The tip of the bo staff quivered against his throat. Raven was glad, for the thug's sake, that it had been a missed shot. "I can and do." The gunman seemed quite unconcerned that he was surrounded on all sides and unarmed.

After a few moments he broke the silence. "Well, Wonderbread, aren't you going to read me my rights?" He grinned, teeth glinting in the LED light. Raven scrutinized him. She knew they had met before, but when? The most likely explanation was that he was a former detainee, but that didn't seem right, somehow. Robin forced himself to begin. Before he had completed a full sentence, however, the figure made direct eye contact with Raven and winked. She drew in a breath-- she knew those eyes.

"Robin-!" But it was too late. Malchior connected his foot to Starfire's kneecap with enough force to shatter human bones, dropping as a dead weight to the ground almost simultaneously. The result was that Robin's bo staff connected not with human windpipe but a Tameranian jaw. Malchior winked up at Raven again as he murmured an incantation, apparently enjoying himself immensely.

"Azara-" The words were shoved back down her throat as a shockwave blasted her straight out of the sky and knocked the air from her stomach. In truth, she could never be sure if it was the curse that pounded the wind out of her lungs or the mountain of metal and flesh that dropped upon her from above. Apparently she was not the only one targeted. Another spell rippled through the air, making it suddenly very hard for Raven to hold on to her consciousness. Her vision blurred like oil dripping off a canvas, her eyes refusing to snap into focus. The last thing she heard was a slightly aristocratic voice, no trace of a thug's slur now, from some feet above her.

"And _these _are considered warriors nowadays? Tsk tsk. How the mighty have fallen..." And then everything went black.

_Now for Malchior... for Malchior... Malchior..._

Malchior stretched and shook his arms vigorously-- for some reason they had been trembling. This had been the one part of his plan that he had dreaded-- having to verse the Titans in actual physical combat. He found that as a human he was not the most coordinated person in the world, at best, and would be instantly subdued by the team in a fair battle. Not that that mattered, of course. Humans seemed so intent on blowing eachother's brains out that they had come up with the most ingenious little devices for making even the clumsiest, stupidest brute more deadly than any trained swordsman. Malchior winced and picked a sliver of steel out of the heel of his hand. And just when he had gotten really good at using it, too. Not that using the gun took much brainpower-- you just point the hole end at the fleshy things that scream and bleed and pull the little curved hook thingy for it to work. A far shot from the noble sword, which, if used correctly, could be about as dangerous to one's enemies as it was to oneself.

Malchior paused, his hand outstretched above the half-breed, or at least, he assumed that she was somewhere under that mountain of a teen. He hoped it hadn't crushed her lungs before he could have his revenge. Then again, was it really wise to indulge himself further? He had all the Titans at his feet, with at least two dozen ways on hand to bump them off before ten minutes had passed. If he let them live, there was always the chance that they could bounce back and somehow defeat him. Superheroes had an annoying tendency to do just that, as the news had proclaimed time and time again. Malchior tightened his hands into claws, a habit he found himself doing whenever he let his mind wander. It was not wise to risk it, he decided, but he would do it all the same. At the moment all he wanted was revenge.

Now the real problem. How was he going to shift that walking hill off of the girl? Simple physical force was out of the question-- Rorek had always been a stickler for magic, refusing to lift anything heavier than a crystal ball as a sort of trademark, a flaunting of his prowess. Magical methods would have to get the job done. Malchior knelt beside the robot and placed both palms, with utmost care, on its arm. Then, taking sure to pronounce the incantation precisely as it should be, he used the same delicate grace that a dancer would barely dare to claim to blast the teen with a level ten detonation and knock him into the far pile of wood. It fell ontop of it with a crash and clang. Malchior grinned-- it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun every now and again.

Malchior plucked the red broach off her cape, examining it in the dim light provided by a small illumination spell. It was a marvel, technologically speaking, being hooked into several satellites so that it could project its precise position on the globe at any given time as well as receive and return both video and audio. All Malchior knew or cared about was that it was a little doohicky the team would follow in hopes of finding their friend. Good. Maybe he would have a little more fun before he set his plan into further motion. Malchior jammed the priceless locator unceremoniously into his jacket pocket and hefted her over his shoulder. It had begun.

---

I decided to be lazy and skip ahead to the action part... it turned out well, I think. /scratches head/ I had fun writing Malchior in this one-- I'm beginning to suspect I'm modeling his character off Bartamaeus, (from _The Bartamaeus Trilogy_ by Jonathan Stoud) which isn't a bad thing. Um...

Here's a word puzzle: Return - turn + rearview - rear ?


	6. It's all ObiWan's fault!

If any of you guys are wondering what's up with the no update and all, blame my evil computer. See, I actually type all this up on Documents to Go-- it'sfor my Palm, PDA, little cute gameboy thing, Zire 71, whatever you want to call it, and then transfer it to my computer.The transfer process has been known to screw up (I must have had to rewrite Chapter 31 for that book I'm working on at least seven times) but it works on mostly 85 percentof the attempts, so I don't complain. Guess what happened when I tried this time... can you say "zap"? So I have to retype all of it over again-- the next update's gonna take a little while longer. Not _that_ long, since it's all in my head already, but I wouldn't expect to have it done for another day or so.

(I like making fun of Episode III. Alot.-See chapter title-)


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